


Narcissus

by LelithSugar



Series: Double Jeopardy [1]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Comedy, Established Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Humor, M/M, Merlin being fondly exasperated as usual, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Selfcest, Shameless Smut, Threesome - M/M/M, Time Travel, Voyeurism, attempt at sci-fi, gratuitous use of the word fuck, paradoxes, reverse egg sandwich, taking liberties with physics, this one got away from me, with additional Eggsy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 07:11:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13497240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LelithSugar/pseuds/LelithSugar
Summary: Harry's away, Eggsy's at a loose end and Merlin is more inclined to disrupt the fabric of the universe than a mission. Or: time travel tech needs testing and Harry will have his Eggs with a side of... Eggs.Shameless Eggsy/Harry/Eggsy, with a silly attempt at sci-fi.





	Narcissus

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, blame and/or credit where they are due to Sweetdimplesbruv for so ably busting me out of my writer's block. This has been a mindboggling few days in the making and I've really enjoyed it. 
> 
> This was my Secret Santa request nd nobody filled it (world's smallest violin, etc, I know) so I did it myself. 
> 
> Also, I had a goldfish called Narcissus once. My other goldfish ate it.

 

“What the fuck.”

“Oh it worked!”

“What the fuck.” Eggsy has his gun drawn and trained on the intruder who has just materialised as if from fucking nowhere in the dead centre of the living room. The fact he is there, how and where the bloody hell he has come from is less of an immediate concern than the fact the man holding his hands up wearily and motioning for Eggsy to drop his weapon down… is Eggsy.

“Well that ain't a good idea, is it. What’s the date?”

“What. The fuck.”

“Oh yeah alright catch up bruv, ain't got all day. Well I have, but come on. Date.”

“No but what.”

Eggsy who cannot possibly be Eggsy - because _Eggsy_ is busy being Eggsy - rolls his eyes.  “You're not half as stupid as you look and I should know. Use your brain. I'm just you.  What would I be doing here?”

Eggsy drops the guard just ever so slightly, because universal truth is looking softly at him with unnervingly familiar green-grey eyes, and whilst a convincing doppelgänger or freaky technology might be able to get past almost anyone, Eggsy knows his own fucking face when it's staring him in the face. This narrows down the possibilities quite considerably, and he ain't that slow on the uptake.

“You telling me someone has invented time travel? Merlin?”

“You telling me you'd be surprised? Nah, he didn't. Just took the tech off someone who had and tarted it up a bit. What's the date?”

“What and you're… I'm the experiment?”

Eggsy-from-the-future looks completely appalled at him. Disgusted.

“Honestly you're gonna need to get over yourself, do I still sound like that? Fuck.”  He picks up Eggsy’s phone from the arm of the sofa and checks the date and time, and touches the side of his glasses in a series of taps. Then he holds his finger against the spot to deactivate them, takes them off and folds them into his pocket.  “No. there have already been guinea pigs. Like, actual guinea pigs, then cats, then dogs, then volunteers, then other agents, then himself, _then_ me. You. And if you don't Harry will insist on it being him so you jump, yeah?”

“Yeah.” That he can agree on, at least.

“Also it's _well_ fun! This is my third jump. We thought we'd go a bit further and we went for here in case we over-shot. Somewhere safe, you know?” That makes a lot of sense. Even if he'd shown up at the wrong time, Harry's living room would have been a safe place for Eggsy for quite a while before he moved in. “So. How're you? How's Harry?”

“Surely you've already done today, so... don't you know?”

“Mate, I can't remember every day ever. I'm being polite int I? Plus today changes now I'm back. Time’s weird.”

“No shit.” Eggsy is starting to wonder whether his future self has much more grip on this situation than he does, but he goes along with it. “I'm alright. Harry’s gone to physio.”

“Oh yeah, Thursday afternoon. He’ll be back at six.” He says it more as a confirmation to himself than anything, like he’s just making conversation. “Got much on?”

There's something familiar in his tone that Eggsy can't quite place yet. It all feels strangely awkward, making small talk with himself in the lounge. “Nope. Evening in. How long are you here for?”

“Long as I like really,” shrugs future-Eggsy.  “Don't make no difference the other end, how long I stay. You go back to the time you left, pretty much. And fuck me is it a dull afternoon to go back to, so I'm in no hurry.”

“You haven't come to like, stop the world ending or tell me the lotto numbers or anything?”

“Nah, Harry's been on recon two weeks, Roxy’s gone on a spa break with her sister, I'm just a bit sick of the sight of Merlin’s mug and my own company, you get me? I figured one or both of you would be here…”

So that's why he's got that look on his face. Honestly, Eggsy’s not sure how he didn't figure it out sooner: it's his mind, he knows how it works. He's not at his happiest on his own for long stretches of time, so if he's got a free pass to drop in and see Harry without disrupting his work - because apparently Merlin is more inclined to disrupt the actual fabric of the universe than a mission, which is typical really - he knows exactly how he'd use it.

“You've literally travelled backwards in time for a skive?” He means a shag and they both know it.

“Yeah. I mean I'll settle for a game of FIFA if you ain't-”

“The new one’s not out yet.”

“Oh yeah, shit! This is weird.” Yeah, alright Future-Eggsy, _that's_ the weird bit. Whatever.

He's not sure how he feels about the idea of this other Eggsy dropping in on Harry, after a quick tumble in the ol’ 800 thread counts. Would Harry even realise it wasn't him? It _is_ him. That's just too confusing to think about, there’s certainly not enough difference in him in six months to notice if you weren’t looking for it, so he wouldn’t blame Harry for not thinking anything was amiss.  But would Eggsy have come back later and just been none the wiser that Harry had got laid whilst he was out? Or would he smell it on him, see some mark or something and lose it?  Would they get into a row and Harry wonder why the fuck Eggsy didn't remember a romp he initiated, and was being a psycho about it?

What if he'd fucking come home and caught them at it?

That's… not such an ugly thought, if he ignores the fact he'd freak out or be so confused his brain would leak out of his ears. It doesn't feel far off it now, but his future self is tipping him that look like he knows what he's thinking, which he supposes he does, and is just waiting for him to catch up.

“So what do you reckon. We've got,” he sucks his teeth, “... twelveish minutes before Harry gets home. Want to give him something interesting to walk in on?”

“Like what.” He has a feeling he knows exactly what. When did the idea for this come to him? Pretty much as soon as he realised he'd be able to time travel? Which would be… around now. Eggsy has to try not to think any harder about how the fuck this works because he hasn't got time for the headache. His fractionally older self is right: they've got a particularly unique opportunity to entirely blow his -their?- boyfriend’s mind and standing around like a fart in a jar just ain’t gonna have the same impact.

Future-Eggsy closes the gap between them and holds him by the small of the back for an off-centre kiss, which feels… less familiar than he feels like it should, more exciting, more like kissing someone new even though he's only teasing at it, not yet going for a proper snog. He's not sure he can deal with that.

“Oh come on,” groans Future-Eggsy at his hesitation. “Might as well get a bit warmed up. What you got your knickers in a twist about it for?”

“Ain't this a bit weird?”

“It's as weird as you wanna make it.” The raise if his eyebrows suggests that with a bit more thought… like, a few months to stew on it, or maybe even a few minutes … weirdness is not something that puts him off, exactly.

“Ain't it…like, incest or something?” Not that he can really imagine enough people having given the situation enough credit to bother thinking up a term for it, but it feels pretty wrong in his head. Not so much in his body, as it turns out, and his future self is obviously having no such moral crisis about it.

“No? It's more like... having a wank. But with more options. And the world’s your oyster bruv ‘cos honestly I been gagging for it all day, I'm up for whatever.”

And just like that they're kissing again, which… yeah, it's alright as long as he keeps his eyes shut and doesn't think about it.  Future-E... _the person he's kissing_ tastes of chocolate hobnobs and goes for all the little spots where a squeeze or the pinch of nails goes a long way. He's also aware of the way he's being positioned, ready to be on show the moment Harry comes in, to look like he’s interrupting a clinch that’s going places without entirely obscuring either of them from view. He does like being shown off.

His wandering hands push enough of Future-Eggsy’s black polo shirt up to see that he’s has definitely put some of the less fun gym work in.  “Nice.”

“Yeah? Hard work, that is. Give up the fucking Pringles, eh?”

Somewhere amidst the gentle, meandering kisses and exploratory hands, Eggsy is actually starting to get a bit turned on, and he’s not sure if that’s because of how taboo it feels or because his libido is only registering that there’s a decently fit lad with his hands down Eggsy’s pants and not really bothering with the fact it’s… him. Is it odd that he finds himself fit, when it’s not him? Like, he knows he’s looked in the mirror before and thought, _‘that guy would get it, if he were someone else_ ’, and now he’s got that duplicate in front of him and that little twinge starting in the bottom of his belly that’s going to be an erection in no time flat, and still no real idea whether he fancies himself - which sounds ridiculous - or if he’s managed to disassociate from the body in front of him enough to fancy him as someone else.

Fucking straight people never have this problem.

Whilst he’s busy having a little bit of an existential crisis, Future-Eggsy licks into Eggsy’s open mouth and flicks a thumb over his nipple in the way that makes a sparkle of pleasure shoot down to the base of his dick, and he can’t help himself gasping at it. This could get interesting.

Although they'd planned for it, he still nearly jumps out of his skin when the door opens and Harry walks through it with his head down, shaking rain off his umbrella before he puts it in the stand and finally looks up at them.

Harry tenses visibly, first just seeing Eggsy plus a male form that isn't Harry, with his hands on him, and then Future-Eggsy turns just slightly and all Harry’s breath comes out of him in a rush. He's silent for a long second in which nobody moves and it becomes increasingly obvious that Harry is not intending to stop them, even if he does have enough questions to last them until they catch up with whenever Second-Eggsy’s come from.

“I really did think this way of life had run out of surprises for me. That, I must confess I was not expecting.”  Both Eggsys grin and lean towards each other again, tilting away at the last second before a kiss, just hinting at it. They both know they’ve got him already: Harry’s mouth goes a little slack and it takes him a moment to speak.  “What am I looking at? Long lost brothers?”

“Oi!” They both square off in irritation but it's original Eggsy who protests first. “Do you actually think I'd be getting off with my fucking twin?”

Harry hesitates. “In all honestly, darling, with as little offence as possible intended, that would be the least surprising explanation, but I gather not.” He tries again. “Clone? Horrifically lifelike replica?”

Stepping forward, Harry pokes both of them, and they make approximately the same noise in response. Future-Eggsy catches his hand before he can do anything more painful and smiles warmly at him. “Time travel.

“Oh! He’s got it working, then.”

Wait, what? Why does everyone seem to know more about this than Eggsy does? It figures that Merlin would keep something like that under wraps until it was ready but if he's already told Harry… you know what? Forget it.

Harry looks like he isn't sure whether he wants to grab hold of the both of them and smush them together into the kiss he's obviously gagging to see or just pull up a chair with a drink. “Do carry on.” His voice comes out just the tiniest bit squeaky, “please.”

Eggsy sees his mirror image purse into a wry little smile and a raise of the eyebrows even as he feels himself doing the same, and then he's pulled forward chest to chest and mouth on mouth for a showy, open kiss. Lots of tongue, plenty to look at, because if they're going to do this for Harry to watch, it's going to be worth watching. He even bites his other self’s lower lip and drags it back when they part, just in time to hear Harry puff out a sharp breath to compose himself.

It does sort of feel like they should at least get the obvious conversations out of the way before then now inevitable turn for the improbably pornographic.

“Which. Err.” Harry gestures between the two of them, not really sure what he's asking.

The Eggsy on the left, in the blue polo shirt, raises his hand. “I'm me. The real me.”

“Oi!”

“Well.  He's real, I mean, I’m the one who was here when you went out this morning, put it like that.” That's better, that makes sense. Sort of.  “He's real, he's just from…”

“September,” finishes Eggsy-in-the-black-shirt. “Don't worry about it. I know how to get back. I'll be out of your hair in a couple of hours.”

Harry nods. Either he knows more about Merlin’s projects than he ever lets on or he really, truly has run out of fucks to give about surprises that aren’t about to kill him.

“And are you actually… you? You’re not here to warn us off some dread course, are you?”

“This ain’t Quantum Leap, Harry. I just missed you.”

Harry nearly shrieks “ _Missed_ me?” at the same time Eggsy pipes up  “Oi, what the fuck’s Wonton Leap?”

Typically, Future-Eggsy ignores his former self and calms Harry with a hand on the arm, realising what he’s implied. “Oh no, babes, no, you’re on a mission, it’s fine.”

Harry visibly blows a breath out and turns to actual-Eggsy. “You've never watched Quantum Leap?”

Black-shirt-Eggsy grins. “I have by September.”

“I’ll buy the box set,” nods Harry, like this all makes perfect sense to him. “So am I to take it that this is a... social visit?”

“Yeah. We’re just testing the kit and I thought I'd, uh, drop in.” His filthy grin makes it obvious he never planned to sit around talking about the weather. His hand, which Eggsy hadn't noticed has naturally come to rest in his back pocket, gives him a pinching squeeze and Eggsy suddenly realises quite how not-normal it is to be standing in front of your boyfriend and expecting him to be totally on board with the fact someone else is feeling you up. Like... he's pretty sure Harry's on board, if the look on his face is anything to go by, but...

“Oh. Uh. Are you okay with this, it's not like it's… cheating, not exactly.”

“Oh darling, not at all.” He thought so. “But then, by that measure, neither is this.” Harry strolls around and puts his hands on the hips of Future-Eggsy, ducking to kiss at his collar, stepping up behind him so that he's looking into Eggsy’s eyes over Future-Eggsy’s shoulder, and the heat in that look is just unbelievable: definitely enough to overcome the strangeness of it all.  When Eggsy doesn't protest, Harry goes for a kiss to the side of Other-Eggsy’s jaw, still holding eye contact.

“Mm, hello. Blimey, I'm getting spoilt today!” September-Eggsy reaches up and behind him to grasp the back of Harry's head and pull him forward to where he can whisper in his ear, and Eggsy watches an indulgent smile spread over Harry’s face.

“That's not a bad idea.”

“Oi. I'm starting to feel a bit left out here.”

“Well, heaven forbid.”  Harry steps around so he's in between the two of them, puts his hand on Eggsy’s waist and all is right with the world again, or as right as it can be considering that Eggsy’s entire understanding of existence has just been upended like JB’s toybox when Harry has the audacity to put his squeaky rubber pizza slice away. Harry looks world-alteringly, blissfully smug and says, like he’s been waiting to say it his entire life, “Gentlemen, shall we take this upstairs?”

September-Eggsy takes off first, not even bothering to kick off his trainers at the bottom of the stairs. Eggsy almost tells him which door the bedroom is, which is stupid. Technically, that Eggsy's lived here longer than he has.

Once they get into the bedroom it's all suspended and awkward for a moment because it's very obvious what they're about to do, and yet Eggsy has no real idea of the practicalities of how they're going to do it. Harry, on the other hand, looks like he has fully and mathematically processed every possible configuration of events and is having the devil’s own job trying to pick which he wants, because nobody is pretending this isn't all for him, so he’s obviously going to get his first choice.

Future-Eggsy slinks up to Harry and proper snogs him, deep and filthy, and Eggsy has to squash down a truly stupid flare of jealousy. God, they do look something else together: a bit dirty, this pin-sharp gent and the pretty boy he’s got his hands all over. The age gap is a lot more visible than it feels like from the inside, but they touch each other with such low key, casual passion and intimacy that it makes Eggsy’s cheeks feel hot watching. That boner he was seriously considering is in full force now and watching Harry’s eager, earnest responses to even one of him is easily enough to drown out whatever lingering reservations he might have about the situation.

This is going to be brilliant.

Eggsy steps up to the kissing couple - ignoring the momentary rage that thought brings because it’s not _wrong_ exactly - and slides his hands around both their waists so they let him in. On instinct, he and his duplicate go for opposite sides of Harry’s neck: Harry groans like he could come on the spot, and it’s all a bit wonderful.

“What do you want to do, Harry?” He finds his voice, and it’s chalkier, drier than he’s expecting. Maybe he he hadn’t quite realised how hot he finds Harry being so turned on by this. By there being more of him? By having two boys to play with? Fortunately, it doesn’t matter in the slightest: either way it’s exactly what he’s getting, and his reaction is doing it for Eggsy just fine.

“Can I watch?” Harry smiles almost shyly, like he’s embarrassed by the obviousness of what he wants or by wanting to sit back whilst Eggsy does all the work. Like a kid that’s asked for something really major for Christmas. “I can't imagine this is a scenario I'm going to find myself in too often. Indulge me.”

Eggsy finds himself tutting at him fondly, preparing for a jibe his future self beats him to by seconds. “Um. That's _well_ dirty. ‘Ave a word with yourself, Harry, you old perv.”

“Guilty.”

They step back from him and Harry’s hand lifts as if it’s going to make for his glasses but  September-Eggsy swoops in and takes them off him. “Nu-uh. Sorry babes. Imagine if someone found it.” _Imagine how fucking spare Merlin will go_ is what he means and they all know it. Harry acquiesces and settles into the chair at the dressing table, and Eggsy wishes either of him had had the foresight to bring Harry up a drink to sit there with, because that would look gorgeous, but fuck stopping now.

It starts with more kissing. Lazy, sloppy, tongue-heavy necking that’s got to look better than it feels but then again, there’s something pleasantly blatant about it. Surprisingly, Harry doesn't comment or moan or make a single sound, but when Eggsy chances a look over that's obviously not a bad thing. He's not sure Harry is even blinking, but every now and then he makes a great deal of effort to swallow, or to lick his lips so that he's not actually drooling.

The clothes come off then. The two versions of Eggsy strip each other rather than themselves - Will Harry even be able to tell which of them is which once they're stripped off? Does it matter? - hesitantly, between hungry little looks at each other, which feels totally ridiculous the first time but then Eggsy thinks about what he likes in porn, about what he knows _Harry_ likes in porn, and gets with the programme. Other-Eggsy looks at him, waiting in obvious question with a marked glance to the matching pretty bulges in their decidedly-not-matching boxers: his are strawberry ice cream pink, his future self’s are a plain blue - _huh, laundry day_ \- and rubs him, open palmed over the fabric and they both moan at the same time.

By the time they make it onto the bed they're both naked, smooth skin rubbing over skin, and Eggsy notices how different he feels to Harry, soft and thick, except bits of him which are decidedly not soft in the slightest. He can't quite get his head round touching properly, not yet, but he's quite happy with the groping around and rubbing together they've got stuck into, because that’s just hot flesh and he’s fine with it. It feels good.

“That is quite definitely the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” begins Harry, a bit shaky but otherwise doing better at stringing a sentence together than might be expected from the vaguely stoned look on his face. “And I've seen-” now, usually here would come an increasingly elaborate list of great works of art, masterpieces, and wonders if the world that he has seen on his travels. It's his favourite vein of compliment and Eggsy always laps it up, but it's too much for Harry right now. “- ...I've seen some things, Eggsy, Christ, you're stunning.”

“I'm stunning?” He grins, all charm. “You're sure it's me specifically, and not just the fact you've got a pair of young lads slobbering all over each other in your bed, waiting for you to pitch in?”

“Given the circumstances I think that's rather a moot point, don't you?”

“You're a lucky man, Harry Hart.”

For both the situation and for getting out of having to answer, really.

Harry tries to agree, obviously, but what comes out is a slightly hysterical bark of laughter, and Harry sits back, one hand still extended in the fantasy of touching, the other twitching up like he almost wants to cover his eyes, like he can't face watching this particularly surreal dream come true right in front of him.

They've never really discussed the idea of a threesome other than the odd joke dropped in about the occasional celebrity they both fancy a bit of: the obvious fact of the matter is they're both far too jealous, too fiercely possessive for it to be anything but a disaster no matter how appealing the idea of watching from more than arms length as Harry gets his jollies is, or how far he will bend to make Harry happy. Because Eggsy can bend quite far enough on his own, thank you very much.

But like this he doesn't have to worry about how the third party feels, or how Harry feels about the third party, or how Harry might think _he_ feels about him. Eggsy only feels three things at this moment in time: horny, confused, and horny. Okay: two things.

Physically, he's feeling a proper handful of future-Eggsy’s arse, and it's nice. He knows he's got a good arse, but it's fun to feel it from the perspective of it not being his own and know that it still holds up to his standards.

Another cool thing about it being him is they can concentrate on the show they're putting on, unbothered by the other’s comfort: he knows his limits, knows what he likes without checking and besides, what's he going to do? Get in a strop and not talk to himself? Be reasonable.

Whilst they're at it, there are definitely things he can use this as an opportunity to do: he bites his future self on the neck so that he'll get the idea and bite him back, which he does, which is lovely and already he's arching into it, hissing at the squeeze of teeth. Harry doesn't go in for enough of all that. It's not that he _won't,_ if Eggsy asks and they've got nowhere to show their faces, but he reckons it's a bit uncouth so he's usually hesitant. Not so much, his future self, who's as into it as he is, obviously. And it's a joy to roll around sinking his teeth in and sucking and not getting told off for it; to feel the prickle and burn of bruises in his own skin and return them, burying his face in the other man’s neck.

Future-Eggsy grabs him firmly by the upper arms, hooks him with a leg and flips Eggsy expertly onto his back on the mattress before roughly attacking his throat again, and Eggsy grabs at him in a sudden wave of desperation. His erection doesn't give a shit who's doing the biting, and It's starting to feel more like a scrap than a shag and that doesn't matter. All that seems to matter is he’s held down moaning under someone who isn't Harry...

Harry, who is managing quite impressively to look blissful and angry and aroused and confused and like this is his favourite thing that has ever happened all at the same time. There’s jealousy there, for sure, but it looks wonderful on him and Eggsy will take that whilst he can come by it so harmlessly. He writhes up against himself and they grapple around a bit more - it’s so obvious Harry likes that - before future-Eggsy pulls away and zeroes back in on Eggsy’s chest, on his nipples, with obvious scrapes of tongue and teeth that get Harry moaning and yeah, they don't feel too shabby either.

“Look at you,” Harry barely says, he's that breathless, and Eggsy isn't sure which one of them he's talking to… _oh._

“Why don't you come join us,” asks Future-Eggsy, extending a hand to Harry, who takes it and he's _shaking. “_ In the middle, come on.”

They both launch onto him, starved of their mutual lover’s touch and hungry for the feel of Harry’s body, for where either of them would be at this point in proceedings, usually, if it weren’t for the distraction of the other. As a flawless team they strip Harry’s clothes off, working down his body in an alternating, balanced zigzag of grabs and kisses until they’ve got his trousers dropping down his legs and meet for an indulgent, lewd kiss an inch or so from the head of his cock.

“Nope,” says Harry flatly, and they both stop quickly, wondering what the sudden change of heart is about until he extracts himself from their hold with a pained grimace. “No, absolutely none of that, I'm afraid. Ten seconds of that and I'm either going to come or have a heart attack and I'd really rather not do either until I've experienced being in the middle of the pair of you."

Eggsy’s about to say he's already been in the middle of the pair of them, but then he realises there's being in the middle and there's _being in the middle._

And, well, could he resist Harry anything when he sounds like that?

“You want me to do you while you're doing him? Or the other way round?” Future-Eggsy says it casually, and the offhand filth of it makes a shiver go up Eggsy’s back, pulls that knot excitement and arousal nice and tight.

“My darling, I think you might be underestimating quite how little difference that makes for me under the circumstances.”

He's got a point.

There’s an expectant, calculating pause. “Heads or tails?” Future Eggsy looks expectantly at him.

“Uhm… tails?”

“Sure,” he smiles and gets up.

“Wait, what? Thought you were gonna flip a coin?”

Other-Eggsy looks at him blankly, says “you just picked, didn't you?” and... shit. He's got him there.

Not that he minds a bit because being bottom of this little sandwich is going to mean getting all the praise and soft treatment from an extremely awestruck and overwhelmed Harry, which would be Eggsy’s favourite thing any day of the week, let alone when there’s competition. Is he really conjuring a rivalry with himself in six month’s time, who seems to have bent the fabric of reality solely to impose himself for a threesome? Yeah, he might be. 

“Would you do the honours?” Harry holds a pump-dispenser of lube in the vague direction of the pair of … what even _is_ the plural of Eggsy? Eggsies?  Eggsi?... and has such a lost, wonderous look on his face that there is no chance in fucking hell that Eggsy isn’t, in some configuration, going to finger himself for Harry to watch.

That's not weird, is it? He fingers himself all the time. Well not _all_ the time - like, he's got a job, and usually if they're going to fuck Harry likes to do it - but he's no stranger to it, is what he means. Just, not quite like this.

As Future-Eggsy kneels up, Harry chucks him the lube, which he catches left handed and well, that's teamwork for you.

There's no teasing for show at this point. Harry doesn't need it and Eggsy doesn't play about with himself too much when he wanks, even when he's using his fingers too. The other him knows that, obviously, and just slicks up and pushes two in at the exact right speed to get the initial push over with as quickly as possible without it hurting, to get to the bit that feels good.

It's kind of nice, then, because he doesn't have to worry about the fact he's laying there like a sack of potatoes - if a sack of potatoes could pose - whilst his other self ducks down to suck him off whilst he stretches him out.

And that _is definitely_ weird but fucked if he cares, because there's a hot wet mouth on his cock and flexing fingers in his arse  at the same time as Harry's gritting out “ _oh that is fucking… ugh. Eggsy.”_ This is what Harry wants to see, this is the good shit.

Plus, it helps to distract him from the discomfort of being worked open. He's not sure if other-Eggsy does it like this because he knows that's how he enjoys it most or because that's his go-to technique… which is, he supposes, the same answer, just from two different directions. But he must be up to three fingers now and still feeling hot and into it rather than tense and awkward.

“Fuck,” he groans out mostly for Harry's benefit. Mostly, but he's pleased to know he's not at all shabby with his fingers at this angle. “Fuck, that's good.”

Other-Eggsy pulls back and gives him another pulse of his fingers, right against his sweet spot, holding his spit-slick cock steady with his other hand. It’s strangely reminiscent of some of the better fumbles with lads his own age as long as he doesn’t look down. “Yeah?”

“ _Yeah._ ”

It's much more like he wants it than when he tries to do it himself. Although that is himself, but fuck it, he knows what he means. The point is, this must what Harry experiences when he fingers him whilst he's going down on him and he's happily confident about how that feels for him now, plus getting a few ideas about what he could do differently. 

Like knowing when to get the fuck on with it, because off to the side Harry is squeezing his cock and making a pained sort of panting noise. After a whimper, his other hand reappears from an awkward angle behind his back, shiny with lube.

Eggsy nearly kicks himself. Like, himself himself, not even his other self, even though there happens to be a spare one knocking around. Because amongst it all, he's totally missed out on the sight of Harry getting himself all loose and lubed up but that, really, he could have any time, if he asked. He should ask. Eggsy’s started making a mental list of all the things this afternoon is teaching him, for future use, and watching Harry finger himself in the far more traditional, less quantum physics-y sense is pretty much top of it because if the pink of his cheeks is anything to go by, he likes that too. God, he's so beautiful.

Harry kneels on the bed, sits back on his feet and helps Eggsy straddle his lap. They always find it easiest to get started like this: letting Eggsy work down on Harry's cock at his own pace until they're seated right, and from there they usually decide where to take it, but it's pretty obvious where this needs to go.

“Ready?” Harry kisses along Eggsy's jaw softly, and the difference of the feel of his lips sends Eggsy spinning. They haven't even kissed. He's got so swept up in their little performance that he's ended up with Harry balls deep in his arse before he's even kissed him, except now he's started he can't stop and has to mumble-grunt the affirmative into Harry's mouth so that he'll lift his weight and put Eggsy on his back, bearing him down onto the bed whilst Eggsy straightens his legs out around him.

It feels so good having Harry on top of him again. He's longer, heavier, his touches so totally different and yet more familiar to Eggsy, more right on his skin than his own. The other version of himself is still running his hands all over the place, and Eggsy can see how carefully calculated they are so that Harry will feel each pass against his forearms - he knows how his mind works - like he can’t get enough of himself.

“Are you having fun there?” Harry grins at him, more together, the edge taken off now he's sunk his cock into the heated grip of Eggsy’s body. Eggsy gives him a sly, hot little smile and Harry tuts at him on another wet kiss. “Dirty boy. You're going to end up with some sort of obscure psychological complex.”

Harry doesn't usually bite him much but he's obviously decided Eggsy’s neck is a lost cause now, or else realised from arm’s length quite how much Eggsy likes it, because he shows none of his normal restraint when he scrapes his teeth over Eggsy’s throat, and Eggsy is so sensitive there now it makes a shudder of excitement go all the way down to his toes.

“Mind you, it's perfectly well justified. I'm always telling you you're exquisite, do you believe me now?” Even whilst Harry whispers to him, he's fitting his mouth over each hickey and sucking, covering the bruises with his own and Christ, Eggsy is going to be black and blue.  They've got to go shopping tomorrow and Harry will have not a scratch on him and Eggsy will look like Harry's throttled him with a belt. Now he's thinking about it, that probably looks worse on Harry than on him and in either case it makes his arse clench around Harry and his cock twitch between their bellies.

“Dunno.” Eggsy runs his hands down the wide plane of Harry’s back, feeling out the corded, straining muscle down to the swell is his arse, and whispers like it's brand new information: “H _e ain't really my type.”_

Other-Eggsy clambers up fully onto the bed, which creaks comically in protest that it's not used to this amount of weight, then Harry is heavily, totally still in him for a long few moments of fiddling. He draws, or is drawn, back for a second and then Harry is pushed into him deeper and harder than Eggsy has ever felt in his life and it knocks the breath right out of him.

“Fucking hell!”

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Gimme a second.” Eggsy heaves another breath in and blows it out slowly. It doesn't hurt, exactly, but there's a lot of physical sensation to take in and the weight on his lower body is crushing.

Harry pushes his hair out of his face and whispers comfort, but he picks up rocking into him a lot quicker than Eggsy expects.

“Eggsy!” The sharp hiss is definitely a rebuke, and all he's doing is laying there?

“What?”

“Not you, h- oh, bollocks.” Harry reaches a hand back and slaps top-Eggsy solidly on the flank. “Give hi- give yourself a moment.” Then he turns his attention back to him, kisses the present Eggsy pinned underneath them softly “You're doing ever so well, darling. You've just apparently run out of patience by September.”

They all start moving together by some sort of unspoken consensus. At first it's an uncoordinated writhe, and then for a moment it's an awkward Newtons Cradle sort of knocking motion that offers a few brief flares of pleasure he can't settle into, and then Eggsy gives up and lays still. _Then_ it works. Like that, Future-Eggsy is just fucking Harry into him, a wave of weight that drives him so deep on each thrust that Eggsy's vision swims a bit. Top-Eggsy is grunting with the effort already, and he honestly can't tell if that's hot or really offputting,  but it certainly seems to work for Harry, who’s murmuring disjointed, happy nonsense into Eggsy’s hair.

“God, you feel so good.”

“Yeah I fuckin’ do,”  interjects top-Eggsy, unhelpfully.

Eggsy bites his lip on the ‘ _nobody was talking to you, mate’_  because there is no sense - literally pushing the boundaries of no sense - starting a fight with his future self when they've got Harry in between them, loving it. Eggsy can take a pretty good guess at what Harry's feeling, filled up and taken in and cradled, surrounded so entirely by hot writhing muscle, by fit body that wants him this much; speared on and rubbing against cock that’s hard and dripping for him; not one but _two_ young men who can’t think of a single thing they’d rather do with all the time in the world than have sex with him. If Harry’s face is anything to go by, it's pretty close to his idea of heaven.

Eggsy ain’t exactly suffering for it either. Harry is panting against his collarbone, hot and damp, and he’s rolling with the lilts of sensation as Harry’s cock shifts almost too deep inside him, almost incidentally over his prostate. It's good because it's different, so deep, a kind of swooping pleasure that curls up Eggsy’s body with each thrust, and not really being able to move means he just gets to lay there and feel it, ride it out and take what he’s given with someone else fucking Harry on top of him. Except it's _him_ fucking Harry too, making him tense solid and moan like that, and he knows what that noise means.  It's probably the only time the man’s ever remotely predictable: he's going to come, already. Eggsy can't even bring himself to take the piss about how quick it is, he just wants to see him get off like this, for him.

“That it, Harry? Yeah? You like being deep inside me whilst you're getting fucked?” Eggsy threads a hand firmly in Harry's hair and turns his head to the side so that he can't help but see the both of them, what they're all doing, all the shining skin and mess of limbs. Harry’s too far gone to answer, but he moans and then holds his breath. “Or you like how I'm giving it to you when you're balls deep in someone else? Yeah. I like it too. Feel.”

He squeezes his other hand into the small of Harry's back and holds them together tight so that the leaking hardness of his cock presses into the soft, slick skin of Harry's stomach. As Harry groans, Eggsy manages to meet eyes with… himself over Harry's shoulder, and Future- Eggsy sneers a bit at his lines but fuck him because it works.

“Fuck!" Harry goes dead still for a second and then bucks between them, hips kicking off-rhythm as he shudders through his orgasm, pulse after pulse of it throbbing up inside Eggsy, a flash of heat so sudden he could very nearly come from it but he's too wrapped up in watching Harry tense up and fall apart. “Fuck,” Harry repeats, almost apologetic, as the tension unwinds out of him and he loses the ability to hold himself up on his arms.

“S’alright, babes, I’ve got it. I've got you.”   Future-Eggsy strokes at his side, holds himself back and lets Harry roll out from between them, sweat drenched and shaking. Harry flops out on the bed, chest heaving like he's run an assault course and sparkles in his eyes.

Dirty, animal pride floods through Eggsy, hot and heavy, because whatever way you slice it, he did that.

It’s unlike Harry though, who is ever the gent,  to leave Eggsy to take care of himself. Then again, it’s double the compliment that Harry is too well-fucked to care and obviously thinks he’s in capable hands.

Future-Eggsy is still knelt on the bed, panting and dark-eyed with focus, quite obviously looking for somewhere to put his glistening red prick and Eggsy is laying there with his legs spread and his hole twitching around the loss of Harry's cock. He wastes no effort on the subtleties of seduction.  “Can I finish up?”

And from the side, Harry whispers “ _Jesus. Please.”_

Wait, Eggsy thinks, because surely Other-Eggsy must already know what the answer is going to be, and then he realises that in six months - which can’t be that busy if Merlin’s got time to be dicking around with time machines - it's going to be him sitting there with that stiffy, so he might as well do himself a solid. Take one for the team, as it were.

Plus his body is screaming at him that he's not done getting fucked and he’s never gone two rounds in a row.

So he nods, “come on then,” and his clumsily desperate future form climbs on him before either of them can think twice about it.

Harry, for all that he’s spent and exhausted is still staring, glazed but enthralled, from the chair by the dresser, presumably abusing years of training to commit everything he can to a pretty spectacular eidetic wankbank.

Eggsy lays back, shuts his eyes and realises he can never tell anybody to go fuck themselves, ever again.

That’s the last flash of overanalysis he has before Eggsy shuts his brain up and gets into the fact that he can take what he wants with nobody to impress, rolling his hips and clutching onto his future self’s back hard enough to leave nail marks. It doesn't matter, he knows he likes that. Everyone’s going to be sore tomorrow and it's going to be worth it, because September-Eggsy’s quick, shallow thrusting is _so_ close to perfect, he’s so close...

“Less- _ugh, mmm._ Shift back a bit?”

“Say ‘please’.”

“Fuck off.”

“Boys, boys.” Harry sounds so incredibly, incomprehensibly smug, lust-drunk and dreamy, the stupidest grin Eggsy’s ever seen on him plastered on his face. “Play nicely.”

So they do, and Eggsy ain't even ashamed of the way his other-self leaning down and hissing “yeah, be good for Harry _and take it"_  in his ear makes his stomach flip over.

Because he knows Harry wants to see this happen as much as Eggsy wants to come, and it’s all going blurry, the whys and wherefores and weirdness drowned out by the physicality of a _really_ good fuck if he does say so himself. He’s never felt - nor will feel again, most likely - what it’s like to be fucked whilst freshly full up with Harry's come, and he has to admit that's good. Slippery and loose and more than a little bit filthy. There's no discomfort at all, even though… is he a little bit thicker than Harry? Nothing dramatic, but enough that he can get what Harry means, that he's not just paying lip service when he moans about how full he makes him feel.

And when he gets his second go around he’ll feel what it’s like to pound into the wet slick Harry’s left in him, to just slip from one waiting hole and into another because he's not finished. He almost wishes they'd done this the other way around; that he'd get to tag-team fuck Harry until he’s screaming with it, and not object in the slightest to his own sloppy seconds. He's suddenly completely sure that a gratitous amount of lube plus telling Harry all about what he was thinking whilst he was getting fucked by his future self will have functionally the same effect, and they can do that on their own. They'll be dining out on the fantasies of this for months.

Because it's all about Harry, even now. Eggsy’s only so fucking turned on because he’s watching, adoring even though he’s post-orgasm, like the only thing he's ever seen in his life more appealing than Eggsy is two of him and even then it's a close call. It's about the physical evidence of that, the way Future-Egsy is just fucking Harry's come into him, that they're just toys to each other now to get off with, putting on a show for Harry like he might with a dildo or his own hand.

Except it's better than that, if he's honest, because it might not feel like Harry but he's still getting actually fucked, not playing at it, and he can hold scorching eye contact with Harry sitting over there whilst he takes it. And he can think about the fact that this is exactly what Harry feels when Eggsy is fucking him and _he's good,_ steady and patient like Harry's helped him learn to be, and cock is cock at the end of the day; Eggsy knows what he likes.

And fuck, does this future version of him know what he likes.

And of course he knows when Eggsy hits his limit and needs to come. Now.

“Wanna try something?"

Eggsy squints at his future self like he doesn't quite trust him, which is a pretty damning psychoanalysis in itself, but he’s desperate and Harry is looking at the both of them, the both of him, in completely rapt wonder so of course he's gonna have a go at whatever big finish he’s cooked up.

“Go loose. Get ready to roll back a bit, hips forward.”

Future-Eggsy grabs him firmly by the waist, fingers digging in, mostly for the leverage to bend himself double and get Eggsy’s cock in his mouth whilst he's fucking him.

 _Holy shit,_ he can do that?!

He thinks it at the same time that Harry blurts out an awestruck  “ _God have fucking mercy"_ and of course Eggsy comes in seconds flat, with his prostate taking a pounding and hot tongue working up the underside of his prick. He's almost too overwhelmed to enjoy it properly. It's blindingly powerful but over quickly and he doesn't get to bask in the aftershocks because his September-self is still pounding into him even as Harry vaults over to lick the come out of his mouth before he can swallow it.

Eggsy cries out a scream as his stomach flips and his cock twitches helplessly on his belly. If he could come again he would, just like that, swear down. Future-Eggsy is still going, though, and Eggsy knows few things as certainly as he knows that he's already had a wank today, whatever day he's come from, if he can last that long.

Harry takes pity then, and takes it on himself to smooth things along the best way he knows how. With a hand behind Future-Eggsy’s back, spurring him on, and his lips against his ear, so Eggsy knows he won’t be getting sore for long: that never fails.

“That was beautiful, Eggsy, you incredible boy. Can you do that to me? Have we- ?” Future-Eggsy nods mindlessly, jaw slack. Nearly there. “And you’ve done such a wonderful job of fucking us both. You can come now, darling, you must need to. Come for us.”

And so, for the first time, Eggsy actually gets to see his own come-face, and it's not quite enough to distract him from the wet pulsing in his already slick arse. It's disgusting and wonderful and reminds him of all the worst porn, and the noise it makes when other-Eggsy pulls out of him makes him shudder, a cartoonish sort of slurp which would be so gross if his brain wasn't still completely addled with sex. 

Harry, in classic Harry fashion, kisses along his groin to where Eggsy’s hole is dribbling with two loads of come and fucking licks it.

“Harry that is _grim._ ” And also somehow very, very hot and that's a thought that's going to come back to him. It's like Harry knows it, too, because he just laughs and collapses in the middle of them.

Eggsy falls into his usual habit of stroking Harry's hair whilst they come down, only now he has to avoid awkwardly brushing fingers with himself because that - somehow - feels just a step too gay, and now he's wondering if he always looks as besottedly gormless as his future self does whilst he's doing it. He can't help it. Harry looks so beautifully blessed out, so peaceful, that he wants to duplicate a whole room full of Eggsys so that he can do everything to him, fulfil every fantasy he's ever had, But thinking that he realises how unlikely  what's already happened is and what comes out of his mouth is a fond chuckle of “you spoilt rotten tosser.”

Harry seems to contemplate that for a moment . “I _have_ saved humanity quite a few times, you know.”

This is what you get for that, apparently. A gentleman doesn't get his name in the papers but if he plays his cards right he might get to abuse the world’s most significant technological breakthrough to send his boyfriend back in time so he can get double teamed by two of the same person. Sounds about right.

Later-Eggsy is fiddling about with Harry’s phone, which is something because at this moment he doesn't know Harry’s passcode. Comfortingly, Harry's sleepy attentions are mostly on him rather than their visitor, even though if anything he'd have expected it to be the other way round, because of the novelty, and Eggsy drifts in and out of a daze with Harry’s nails scratching softly back and forth on his chest.

In the quiet, Future-Eggsy Manages to snap a passably anonymous picture of their bodies intertwined, mostly censored: Harry wrapped around present eggsy, who's bruised to all hell, with September-Eggsy sort of loosely spooned against Harry's back, chests bared, all of their legs overlapping and the sheet hiding everything it needs to not to make it too cringey. There are few enough identifying features that nobody looking at if would jump to any time-paradoxy sort of conclusions but that harry can have this little visual memento. Eggsy has to admit that it is quite a sexy picture, which is a bit full of himself twice over but he's way beyond caring about that at this point. He's got _his own_ time traveling fucking quantum-spunk leaking out of his _arse,_  really it's the least of his problems.

“Hurgh,” groans Future-Eggsy, stretching to his feet. “Back to September with me.”

Harry doesn't try to get up, so Eggsy doesn't either. Harry does turn vaguely to follow Later-Eggsy with his eyes.

“Where am I off to in September? Is that the Madrid trip?”

“Yeah, and a lovely time you're having too, fannying around going to casinos and skyping me when you're dressed up for parties, looking all fit. I'm bored shitless." 

“Ah. Does Merlin know you're using his technology to just zap yourself back in time for a shag?”

“No… and I wouldn't recommend letting on or he might stop me and then you'll create some sort of horrible time paradox.” He waves a hand at them both on the bed. At the entire wreckage of the sheets and the corresponding lost cause that is Harry’s sex hair. “Or that might not happen, and I ain't kidding, my balls were gonna drop right off. Anyway, he needed it testing, and as far as he's concerned when I get back I could have been here ten seconds or three days.”

Eggsy had gathered that this would probably be a one time deal; that they will never keep it quiet and Merlin will not loan his kit out to be used as interdimensional Grindr on the regular.

“Not sure you're going to get away with it that easily.” Harry nods towards the mirror. Future-Eggsy emerges from his polo shirt and finally sees the state is his neck.

“Harry!”

“That wasn't me.”

“Oh.” He shoots his former self a look full of daggers. “Prick.”

He finishes getting dressed and pads over to give harry a fond, soft kiss.  “I will see you… well, now I suppose, but as far as I'm concerned I'll see you when you get home from Madrid. And I'll see you-” he turns to Present-Eggsy, his former self, “I - ?! I… you know what, fuck this. Laters.” And he puts something from his pocket against his watch and disappears. Just like that. There's no flash, no noise, not even any real significance to the moment he ceases to be there: just he's there, then he's not, like a badly edited film.

“Well, That was-” begins Harry, face half buried in pillow, looking like he could do with the cigarette Eggsy is gagging for, twelve hours’ sleep, a very strong drink and never to think about the complexities of physics ever again.

“Don't. Just… don't.”

 

***

 

As Eggsy has just explained to himself six months ago, his absence from the present timeline Has nothing to do with the amount of time spent at the destination and everything to do with the amount of time-distance covered. The return trip to March takes sixteen minutes, forty four seconds and some loose change in very small decimal places, and Eggsy reappears exactly when he's supposed to.

Whistling.

He salutes cheerfully at Merlin and saunters in the direction of the lab doors.

“Not so fast, Eggsy, please. Debrief.”

“Awh, guv! I've just been wrung through the  fabrics of time and space. Can I go ‘ome?”

Merlin eyes him with the suspicion reserved for superspies who resort to ‘inconspicuous’ whistling.

“Oh, I'm sure it's exhausting. And absolutely nothing to do with any of the other activities you might have involved yourself in. I see you managed to bring out Harry’s territorial proclivities.”

Eggsy pulls his collar up, pointlessly, and winks.

Merlin comes to a realisation. “... that wasn't Harry.”

The lack of confirmation or denial is confirmation enough.

“Well who the fuck else have you managed to get it away with in your own fucking living roo-” the other shoe drops just in time for Merlin not go be angry or disappointed in his infidelity on Harry’s behalf. “Oh, you little shit. You unbelievable, narcissistic little… How does that even work? Do you remember it twice? Does this mean you've known this was going to work since fucking March? “

“Quite well, as it happens. And yeah. So does Harry.” A pointed look, and Merlin shakes his head. "Look, can we have this debrief sitting down? Can I have a shower first? And go get a sandwich or something out the fridge?”

Merlin chuckles. “What, you didn't feel like hanging around for pillow talk and a fry up?”

Eggsy looks at Merlin like he has suggested the truly absurd.

“That'd just be fucking weird.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Typically, I was about three paragraphs off finishing this when I thought up a potential sequel. Am I going to hold it over you for feedback? Nah. It'd be lovely, though.
> 
> If you'd like to join the small but avid band of cheerleaders (<3) who keep me inspired and get to interject their requests into my fics, or in general scream at me about things, I'm randomactsofviolence on Tumblr.


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